Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
standby light, standby bright the last light I see at night a stark reminder, if you will of the impermanence of life
By Paul Stewart3 months ago in Poets
To your hands it leaped, The Golden Frog rests calmly, Feeling your heart break.
By George Zelinski3 months ago in Poets
The thread hums when I touch it, a quiet recognition, like it knows my blood my heart my soul. - My fingers move without thought;
By Autumn Stew3 months ago in Poets
Garden work’s dreadful, Harvesting rusty razors, My hand's killing me.
By George Zelinski4 months ago in Poets
A house of horrors, Squeaky floors, a leaking roof, A seller’s market.
The beaches are closed, Waves of flesh-eating germs crash, Remember sunscreen.
Medea’s Brew House, Braised entrails in newt eye sauce. They serve good coffee.
Hellfire ... The world is burning, ashes from the dust. The sky turns grey. Burn, burn, burn. Everyone is a victim.
By Lucripa4 months ago in Poets
The mind sickness Been hardwired with the darkness Hallucination appearing on the mind Got insane with the overthing
Every time looking to the skies Just feeling something inside Dont know what can be Tried to understand what can be that connection
How to forgive ourselves? Putting other mask Try to be happy Be present ... Family and friends
We are like them. Like lightning bugs. In the darkness, we disappear. But also we can shine. ...
